“My lord,” he said, “what I did in those two instances was the duty of any soldier, so I do not ask that you grant them any reward. Yet I do have a wish, that I present as one hoping for the compassion of his king.”
“What is your wish?”
“The divinities, sire, in their ineffable wisdom, have summoned my ordinary human heart to the heavens of my sire the king, where it clings to the feet of Princess Meresankh!”
Pharaoh peered at him strangely. “But what have the gods wrought in the heart of the Princess?” he asked.
Mortified, Djedef took refuge in a heavy silence.
The king smiled.
“They say that a servant never enters the sanctuary of the Lord unless he is sure to bring him contentment,” he said. “We shall see whether or not this is true!”
Khufu was pleased, and as though for a bit of entertainment, he sent for Princess Meresankh. At her father's summons, the princess came gliding in the glory of her loveliness. When she saw the one she loved standing before him, her being throbbed with shyness and confusion, as she balked like a gazelle that had chanced upon a man.
Pharaoh gazed at her with sympathy, saying to her tenderly, but sarcastically, as well, “O Princess! This commander boasts that he has conquered two fortresses: the wall of Sinai — and your heart!”
“My lord!” Djedef called out, in shocked entreaty.
But he was unable to say more and so kept quiet, defeated and dismayed. Khufu looked at the commander, whose bravery had betrayed him. He looked at the princess, whose arrogance had deserted her, weakened by bewilderment and timidity. His heart went out to her, as he called her to his side. Then he called Djedef to him, as well, and the youth drew near in dreadful fear.
The king laid the hand of the princess into Djedef's hand with slow deliberation, and said in his most awesome voice, which made hearts shiver, “I bless you both in the name of the gods.”
31
In the twelve hours immediately following his fortuitous audience with Pharaoh, Djedef experienced great and peculiar events that shook souls to their core and shattered minds completely. In what had fleetingly seemed the promise of a serene, carefree life, they came like the turbulence of a cataract in the stately, majestic course of the Nile.
What did Djedef do during this brief interlude, so full of strange occurrences?
Upon leaving the Pharaonic presence, he requested a meeting with the vizier Hemiunu, whom he briefed on the subject of the unlucky Egyptian lady that he held prisoner, and who was never out of his thoughts. The kindly vizier cleared the way, discharging her to the commander's care.
“I congratulate you, my lady,” said Djedef, “for the return of your freedom after being so long in captivity. As the hour is late, you shall stay as my guest until tomorrow, then you will set your face in the direction of On, in the protection of the gods.”
She seized his hand and kissed it with great thankfulness, then raised up her face, and her tears were flowing over her cheeks and her neck. He accompanied the woman as they walked to his chariot, where he saw Sennefer awaiting him close by. Saluting Djedef, the officer told him, “His Pharaonic Highness Prince Khafra has charged me to inform the commander of his wish to speak with him right away.”
Djedef asked him, “Where is His Highness now?”
“In his palace.”
Djedef took Sennefer and the woman together in his chariot to the crown prince's palace. When they arrived, he asked the lady to wait for him where she was. Then he went into the palace with Sennefer behind him. He asked to see the prince, and was invited into his chamber. He found the young man not as he usually was, but intensely disturbed, trying to gain control of himself. This time, Khafra did not bother to return his salute, but blurted instead, “Commander Djedef, I always remember your faithfulness when you saved me from certain death. I expect that you also remember my generosity to you, — when you were a low-ranking soldier, and I made you into a great commander — crowning your head — with everlasting glory.”
“I remember this, and I do not ever forget it,” Djedef declared earnestly. “It is impossible for me to forget the blessings of My Lord the Prince.”
“I'm in need of your faithfulness at this moment,” said the heir apparent, “to do what is ordered, and to follow my instructions without the least hesitation. Commander, do not grant leave to your army tonight. Instead, keep the soldiers where they're encamped outside the walls of Memphis, Wait for my orders, which will come to you at daybreak. Take care not to balk at carrying them out, no matter how strange they may seem. Always remember that the courageous soldier flies like an arrow toward his goal, without questioning the one who launched it.”
“I hear and obey, Your Highness,” said Djedef.
“Then wait at the camp for my messengers at dawn, and be careful not to forget my instructions.”
The prince said this, then stood up to signal that the meeting was finished. Djedef bowed to His Highness and left the room — astounded, distracted, and confused by his bizarre command. “Why,” he said to himself, “did the prince order me to keep the army in its encampment? What could these strange commands possibly be that the messengers will bring to me at dawn? What kind of enemy threatens the nation? What sort of insurrection menaces her security? Every Egyptian goes about his business peacefully under the protection of Pharaoh and his government. So why does he need the army?”
Nervously he returned to his chariot and took off in it, the lady with him. But the closer the vehicle came to Bisharu's house, the lighter seemed his uncertainty as his inner whisperings fled and his mind turned toward his family who had been awaiting him so long with great expectation. Reaching the house, he showed the lady to the guest room, then went up to be with the dearly loved people whom he also had so much longed to see.
His mother Zaya met him — with open arms. She rained kisses upon him as she pressed him to her breast — with fervor, not letting him go until Bisharu pried him loose from her grip, saying, “Welcome, O conquering scion! The courageous commander!”
He kissed him on the cheeks and forehead, then his brothers, Kheny and Nafa, embraced him, as well. He greeted Nafa's wife, who was carrying a nursing baby boy in her arms. She presented him to Djedef, saying, “Look at your namesake, Little Djedef! I gave him your name so that perhaps the gods will grant him glory, like his mighty uncle!”
Djedef looked at Nafa as he held the little one in his arms, then kissed his baby-soft lips, saying to his brother, “What a beautiful portrait he'd make!”
Nafa smiled — his son made him happy the same way his art did — and he took him in his arms. At that moment, Djedef found the opportunity to announce the great news of his engagement. “You won't be the only father, Nafa!”
They all awoke to what he had said, as Nafa called out with joy, “Have you chosen your partner, Commander?”
Djedef lowered his head. “Yes,” he said.
His mother stared at him with ecstatic eyes. “Is it true what you say, my son?”
Quietly he answered, “Yes, my mother.”
“Who is she?” she shouted.
Mana, spellbound, asked as well, “Who is she?”
“You have just come from the field of battle,” laughed Nafa. “Did you woo one of the captives?”
“She is Her Highness Meresankh,” he said, calmly and with pride.
“Meresankh! Pharaoh's daughter?”
“She, and none other.”
Utterly astonished, they were seized by an overpowering happiness that rendered them speechless. Djedef regaled them with the story of Pharaoh's blessing upon him as tears of joy glistened in his handsome eyes. Zaya could not control herself, but burst out weeping, praying to Lord Ptah the Magnanimous, the Gracious. Bisharu was beside himself, rocking back and forth — with his bloated, sagging frame. As for Nafa, he kissed the young man and laughed for a long time with glee and delight. Kheny blessed him, assuring him that the gods do not decree such glorious things with
out having designed some lofty purpose that no man had previously achieved. All of them kept expressing the gladness and gaiety that were uppermost in their thoughts.
Suddenly, Djedef remembered the woman that he had left in the guest room. He stood up immediately upon recalling her. Quickly relating her story, he said to his mother, “I hope that you will extend her your hospitality, Mama, until she departs our home.”
“I will go down to welcome her, my son.”
Djedef escorted his mother as they entered the guest room together. “Welcome,” she said. “My lady, you have arrived at your own house…”
The woman rose from her seat, her heavy figure drooping from the degradation and disgrace of her long captivity, and put out her hand to her generous hostess. The two women's eyes met for the first time. With lightning speed, they forgot all about their exchange of greetings as they looked at each other strangely, each as though she were struggling to pierce the heavy veil that time had pressed over the face of the distant past. At length, the eyes of the strange woman widened as she shouted with mad astonishment, “Zaya!”
Seized by panic, Zaya stared at her with intense confusion. Djedef kept looking from one to the other in bewilderment, amazed at the woman who knew his mother though she had spent twenty years of her life in the wilderness.
“How do you know my mother?” he asked her in shock.
Yet the woman paid no heed to what he said. Perhaps she hadn't even heard him — because she was entirely focused on Zaya with an absolute mania. She grew furious with her silence and screamed at her, “Zaya… Zaya! Aren't you Zaya? What's wrong — why don't you speak? Speak, you treacherous servant! Tell me what you did with my son! Woman, where is my son!”
Zaya said nothing, her eyes never leaving the outraged woman. But the commotion had paralyzed her; she began to shudder as her fear tore her apart, her face like that of the dead. Djedef took her by her cold hand and sat her down on the closest seat, then turned to the woman. “How did you summon the nerve to speak this way to my mother, Madam,” he demanded, “after I've taken you into my house, and saved your life?”
The woman was gasping like someone about to die. What the commander who had rescued her said greatly affected her. She wanted to speak, but — besieged by emotion — she could do no more than point to his mother as if to say, “Ask her.”
The young man bent down toward Zaya with compassion and asked her softly, “Mama… do you know this woman?”
Zaya still said nothing. The woman was unable to sustain her silence as she said, her rage returning, “Ask her, ‘Do you know Ruddjedet, wife of Ra?’ Ask her, ‘Do you remember the woman that fled with her from tyranny, twenty years ago, carrying her little child?’ Speak to me, O Zaya! Tell him how you crept away under the cover of darkness, how you kidnapped my nursing son. Tell him how you abandoned me in the unknown desert, a despairing soul, facing nothing but hardship and with nothing to avail against it. That is, until the beasts found me and took me prisoner, subjecting me to torture and the humiliation of captivity for twenty long years. Speak, O Zaya…. Tell me, what did you do with my child? Speak!”
More and more confused, Djedef whispered in his mother's ear in torment, “Mother… allow me, who has caused you this agony, I who brought this woman that grief has deprived of her reason… allow me, Mama… I will throw her out.”
But she gripped his hand to prevent him from acting, and he asked her pleadingly, “Why don't you speak, Mama?”
Zaya groaned painfully, and then spoke for the first time since the stupefaction had overwhelmed her, “There's no use… my life is finished.”
The youth called out, his voice roaring like a lion, “Mother, don't say this. You have me, O Mother!”
She sighed from her ordeal. “Oh, dear Djedef, by God, I committed no evil deed, nor used evil means, but Fate has determined what was beyond a person's power to prevent. O Lord! How can my life be destroyed in a single stroke?”
The youth was nearly insane with pain. “Mama!” he cried. “Do not forget that I am at your side, defending you from all harm. What is hurting you? What causes you such grief? Whatever your past enfolds of good or of ill, it's all the same to me. There's nothing important for me to know except that you're my mother, and I'm your son that protects you — be you oppressor or oppressed, malicious or benign. I beg you not to weep when I'm beside you.”
“It's impossible for you to help me!”
“Sheer nonsense, Mama! What calamity is this?”
“You will not be able to help me, dear Djedef. My God! How I built upon hopes, but I set them on the edge of a crumbling cliff! How they were almost steady and upright, then they crashed down to the lowest ground, leaving my heart a ruin in which the ravens are screeching!”
At this, the young man's emotions grew even stronger, and he turned again toward the woman — but she did not relent. Instead, she went on pressing Zaya, “Tell me, where is my son? Where is my son?”
Zaya remained speechless for a little while, then she stood up nervously and shouted at the woman, “Do you think that I betrayed you, O Ruddjedet? No — I've never betrayed anyone. I stayed awake over you on that fateful night, but the Bedouin attacked us, and I had no choice but to flee. I took pity on your baby from their evil, and carried him in my arms, racing across the desert like a madwoman. I had to run away, seeing the nature of the threat, while your falling into their hands was decreed by Fate. Afterward, I took care of your son, and devoted my life to him. My love was good for him, for he grew up to be a man honored by the world. There he is then, standing right in front of you. Have you ever seen a mortal like him before?”
Ruddjedet turned toward her son. She wanted to speak, but her tongue would not obey.
All she was able to do was to open her arms, and, hastening to him, to entwine them around his neck while her lips trembled — with these words, “My son.my son.” The young man was dumbfounded, as though he was watching a strange dream unfold. He remained silent, sometimes looking at Zaya's cadaverlike face, and sometimes at the woman hanging onto him, kissing him — with a motherly fervor and clutching him to her beating breast. Zaya saw his surrender, noting in his eye a look of affection and compassion. Groaning in despair, she turned her back to them, bolting out of the room like a butchered hen.
Djedef started to move, but the woman strengthened her grip and implored him, “My son… my son… would you abandon your mother?”
The youth froze where he was, casting a long look into her face. He saw the visage that had moved his heart from the very first glance. He saw in it this time even greater purity, beauty, and misery than he had noticed before. Giving himself over in sympathy to her, he leaned his head toward her unthinkingly until he felt her lips press on his cheek. The woman sighed in relief as her eyes drowned in tears — then she began weeping, and he set about trying to ease her distress. He sat her down on the divan, taking a seat next to her as she held back her sobs, while she remained in a state between confusion and happiness over this new love in her life.
Looking at him, the woman said, “Say to me, ‘Mother!’ “
“Mother…” he said, weakly.
Then he said in bewilderment, “But I hardly understand anything.
“You will learn everything, my son.”
And so she recited to him all the long tale, telling him about his birth and the momentous prophecies surrounding it, and of the prodigious events that befell her — until the fortunate hour when her spirit returned to her breast at the sight of him — alive, happy, and full of glory.
32
The fates guided Bisharu to hear Ruddjedet's tale without his intending it. Wanting to welcome Djedef's guest himself, he went down to greet her, arriving by chance just as Zaya was leaving like one possessed by madness. Shocked and confused, he approached the room's door with caution, behind which he heard the voice of Ruddjedet — which she had forgotten to lower — erupting as she spoke in a state of high excitement. Secretly he listened, along
with Djedef, to the woman's story — from its beginning through to its end.
Afterward, he rushed from his hiding place straight to his bedroom, heedless of all things around him, his face furrowed by a seriousness reserved for the most grievous disasters. He couldn't bear to sit down, so he kept pacing back and forth, his consciousness scattered, his soul upset, his thoughts rash and reckless. He was considering what he had heard as its jumble kept running through his head, turning it up and down on its various sides, until the feverish contemplation burnt up his mind, making it like a piece of molten bronze.
Aloud he said to himself, as though addressing a stranger, “Bisharu! Oh, you wretched old man! The gods have tested you with a difficult trial.”
And what a trial!
Dear, handsome Djedef, whom he had held as a suckling baby, rescued from hunger and want, and raised in the merciful eye of fatherhood — as a crawling infant, as a running boy, and as a wholesome young man. He to whom he gave the upbringing of a nobleman's son, and for whom he smoothed the road to success, until he became a man worth a nation full of men. He to whom he granted a father's affection, and his heart entire — and from whom he received the love of a son, and filial piety, as well. Dear, beautiful Djedef, the Fates have shown him the truth about himself- and suddenly his enemy is Pharaoh! Suddenly, he was the means that the Lord Ra had held in store to convulse the unshakeable throne by challenging its majestic sire, and to usurp the right of the noble heir apparent!
The Inspector of Pharaoh's Pyramid cried out again as he spoke to himself, “Bisharu! You miserable old man! The deities have tested you with a difficult trial!” The man's anxiety escalated and weighed more heavily upon him, as he continued blabbering to himself in sorrow and pain.
“O beloved Djedef, whether you're the son of the martyred worker, or the heir to the priest of Ra the Most Powerful, I truly love you the way I do Kheny and Nafa — and you have known no father but me.
Three Novels of Ancient Egypt Page 19